Death Warmed Up
by Nyx6
Summary: What do you get when you cross Bodie, the flu and an exclusive boarding school with a serious drug problem? Answer: A dangerous sequence of events.
1. Prologue

Prologue.

Being a member of CI5 was not the sort of job that could be described as 'low risk,' in fact, more often than not the opposite was true.

In the course of his service for the department, he'd been stabbed, strangled, shot at, broken bones and frequently been clocked over the head, but never, had he ever felt as bad as he did right then.

William Bodie was ill, and not just a sniffle either, but a full-blown case of the flu and all it's happy symptoms, the aches, pains, shivers, the whole deal. He hated it.

Usually in the course of a normal day at work he would be vaulting off roofs and garden walls onto the pavement below without hesitation, now, even walking down the steps to fetch a cup of coffee sent a sharp spike of complaint up his spine straight into his head, eliciting a groan of groggy pain.

Doyle watched him shuffle about the office in a mixture of pity and amusement, the latter winning out more often than the former. As Bodie slid delicately into a chair across from him he caught his partner's vague smirk and narrowed his eyes sharply.

"What?" he growled deeply. Doyle smiled widely in response, Bodie having just answered his own question in one word that had come out several decibels lower than usual and devoid of any clarity what so ever. Doyle cocked his head at him dubiously.

"It's just a blocked nose," his partner offered croakily.

"Blocked head more like."

Bodie frowned, not appreciating the ribbing and instead picked a sheet up off the desk in front of him, struggling to make out the writing as the type spun in front of his eyes. Doyle stepped in to help out, still gazing passively across at him.

"Tim Raynard," he said casually. Bodie frowned, trying to apply the letters he knew to the blur in front him before giving up and putting the sheet down again. Doyle continued, "Friends with Paula Isles and her merry band of pill-pushers,"

Bodie rubbed wearily at his eyes,

"And Cowley wants us to question him?"

"That's about the size of it..." Doyle hesitated before fixing him with a judgmental stare, "You sure you're up to it?"

They both already knew the real truth, testament to many hours in the field spent together, not to mention the hours of drinking and socialising outside of work. But whilst both of them knew that in all actuality Bodie was not fit for the task, they also both knew he'd never admit it.

The ex-SAS man tried to draw himself up tall, ignoring the tingles of pain that rippled across his arm as the sleeve of his shirt slid across his skin. He cleared his scratchy throat and looked up to lock eyes with his partner,

"Course I am."

Doyle smiled, nodding across at him with a knowing expression,

"Yeah," he said casually, "That's what I told Cowley."

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This story has been sitting around forever waiting for an outing, and at the time it was written was heavily inspired by my own bout of flu. So, although I am unnecessarily mean to Bodie (and I _am_ mean!) I do at least sympathise with him!


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One.

In many ways, Tim Raynard was typical of the sort of boys who went to Thorsfield Hall. Confident, self-assured, rebellious and, of course, from filthy rich families for whom the definition of 'good parenting' comprised of a strict nanny followed by a strict education.

But for all the upper-class clones who swaggered downs the halls of the impressive boarding school, chirping 'I say,' at one another and brushing the dust from their identical blazers, Tim was also a world-apart, as identifiable by his customised blazer and outspoken views. Of course, as interesting, or not as that made him to his peers, it concerned CI5 not one iota. What interested them was his connections, which clearly came as something of surprise to the boy himself.

"Paula Isles?" he repeated with a hint of incredulity. Doyle stared back at him, stony-faced,

"That's right."

"Well...what about her?"

"Do you know her?" Doyle repeated with an impatient sigh. Tim frowned slightly, his gaze swinging back and forth between the pair in front of him. He shrugged,

"A little. What would you like to know?"

Doyle gazed back at him, expressionless.

"Well, how about her extra-curricular activities in illegal substances for one."

Tim blinked,

"You mean drugs?"

From his seat, Bodie, head resting in one hand to prevent in falling forward onto the table, let loose a sigh of his own,

"Well he doesn't mean copies of the Beano does he?"

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Doyle turn to glance at him, but he ignored it steadily, instead pouring all his effort into staying upright and controlling the involuntary shivers that had started to run across his skin. Somewhere in the corner of the room a school bell rung, and he screwed his face up tight as the noise hammered angrily in his skull. As the noise echoed down the corridors, doors began to bang open and the entire building, which had been so silent moments before, burst into life.

"Well," Tim began uncertainly, hardened to the racket, "I know she sells something, although I don't know exactly what..."

Doyle scoffed,

"Oh come on now Tim. We're not really supposed to believe that are we?"

The student stiffened in his seat, clearly offended,

"Well why would I know what they do?"

"They?"

Tim blinked, vaguely alarmed and Doyle leant forward,

"How many's 'they' Tim?"

The boy shrugged, casting his gaze down onto the wooden tabletop, tracing across the compass marks and engravings with the tip of his thumb,

"Hard to say exactly..."

Bodie shut his eyes in exasperation, trying hard to ignore the pain in his throat,

"Just get on with it will you?" he snapped,

Tim swallowed, gazing back at the shorthaired man nervously,

"About four others," he paused, letting his tongue flicker across his lips in hesitation. Doyle frowned,

"Is there something else?"

Tim shrugged, suddenly not so keen to share,

"I don't know," he mumbled unconvincingly.

As Doyle looked across at him unimpressed, the door banged open abruptly and a teacher clad in the full black robes of the school marched in looking fierce. Tim shrank visibly,

"Sorry gentlemen," the man announced with an ill-hidden sneer, "But I've got a class in here next."

Bodie, head still ringing from the sound of the door bouncing back against the wall looked up at him with dangerous eyes,

"Then move it," he growled deeply. The man stared back at him,

"I beg your pardon?" he asked incredulously,

"I said move."

There was a short pause as everyone took in the stalemate uncertainly, the warring factions staring one another down angrily. Tim shifted uneasily in his seat and the teacher looked across at him,

"Tim, on your way to lessons now."

The boy slid willingly from his seat, grabbing his bag as he went,

"Yes Mr. Morgan," he mumbled slowly, letting himself out. Once the door was shut again Morgan turned back to Bodie, eerily calm,

"I don't know who you are, sir, but - ," he didn't finish. He didn't get to. Instead Bodie jumped in, getting angrily to his feet with a shakiness that luckily only Doyle happened to notice.

"Listen you arrogant - ," Fortunately for everyone, Bodie didn't get the chance to finish either, as a voice echoed in from the corridor, stopping him in his tracks.

"That will do Bodie."

Cowley was stood stonily in the hallway, fixing him with a solid stare, obviously irritated. Not that Bodie much cared, all he cared about was finding somewhere quiet to close his eyes for just a second and deal with the thumping in his head. The shivers were getting worse as well, and, feeling defeated and exhausted he sunk heavily back down onto the chair, grimacing as it resonated painfully in his head.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience Mr. Morgan," Cowley smoothed, calmly stepping into the room to stand beside Doyle.

Morgan blinked,

"Quite all right Mr. Cowley," Morgan replied in a cold tone that implied anything but, bending to collect the files laid on his desk, "I'll give you another five minutes."

Cowley nodded graciously,

"Thank you."

"Just one thing," the icy teacher sneered as he came to stand alongside the wily Scotsman.

"Oh," he replied casually, "And what would that be?"

Morgan turned to cast a distasteful look over at Bodie, whose head was by now mere inches from the desktop,

"Take him home."

Cowley followed his gaze, eyes never leaving the gently shivering form in front of him.

"I will."

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Thanks for the reviews! I'm certainly no newbee to fanfic, but I am to posting Professionals stuff, and it's always a little nerve-wracking leaping into a new area! Or at least it was! Glad you're enjoying so far – hope that continues!


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two.

"What on earth is wrong with you Bodie?" Cowley snarled as he stalked along the emptying corridors back towards the cars, "These people might not be your cup of tea but without them we've got nothing...and I've got the PM breathing down my neck on this one since half the cabinet send their children here, not to mention the sons of one of the wealthiest Sultans in the entire middle east. The last thing we need is a diplomatic situation over some free-spirited..."

It didn't take him long to realise he was talking to himself, his turn of pace far too fast for Bodie who was gingerly following behind, along with Doyle who'd naturally fallen into step with his partner.

Cowley sighed and stopped, waiting for the pair to catch him up before he continued.

"So far we've got two students dead and all we know is that they got drugs from their school, possibly from Paula Isles, and that it was a bad cut."

"Do we know what the other substance was yet?" asked Doyle, trying in some way to draw the attention from Bodie,

"Rat poison," his boss replied gravely. Doyle pulled a face, "Aye, nasty way to go."

By now they'd reached the lobby and Bodie sat down wearily on a window-seat beside the grand-looking entrance. Cowley turned to look at him sharply,

"Good god man, you look like the living dead."

Bodie pulled a face, alarming them all by passing up the opportunity for a quip.

"He's ill sir," Doyle informed him bluntly. Bodie looked up to fix him with a glare. Ray stared back at him.

_What? You are._

"I'm fine," Bodie spoke up croakily. Cowley fixed him with an unconvinced stare,

"That so?" he asked lightly, crossing over to the doors and flinging one open. As the cold air rushed in across the marble, Bodie breathed in sharply, the cold scraping over his increasingly tender skin like a grater. He clamped his arms closer to his body desperately trying to conserve heat and Cowley let the door swing shut again, sufficiently satisfied.

"Go home Bodie."

"Sir -," Bodie's protest was cut short by a violent coughing fit that bounced off the marble walls and echoed around them. As Doyle helped himself to a cup and a jug of water sitting on the entrance desk Cowley fixed his officer with a steely glance,

"No arguments Bodie. You're going home and you're going to stay there until you are fit enough to be of use to us here. In the meantime, Doyle and myself will get to the bottom of this," he paused to look across at his other man, "Which will include taking Paula Isles in for questioning. Bodie, I'm radioing HQ, they'll have someone pick you up and take you home - no arguments!" he repeated tersely as the shorthaired officer looked up to protest again.

Doyle shook his head gently and Bodie sighed, letting his shoulders droop in defeat.

"Fine."

Cowley nodded,

"Good."

He turned quickly, stalking across the marble flooring with determination, a folder of information clamped under one arm.

Doyle came to stand alongside his partner, passing him the water. Bodie took it gratefully.

"Don't over-do mate eh?" the curly-haired ex-copper suggested from beside him. Bodie took a deep, stuffy breath,

"Even if I wanted to."

He drained the cup and Doyle took it back from him, clapping him gently across the shoulders.

"Rest up," he called as he followed his Cowley's trail, "Plenty of vitamin C!"

Bodie held up a hand in acknowledgement, breathing a sigh of relief. As much of a team-player as he was, there was nothing in the world that appealed to him more than sleep did at that moment in time. He looked up, watching Doyle disappear round the corner with a last glance in his direction.

"Roberts! Walk don't run!"

Bodie's gaze rose slowly towards the stairs where Morgan was berating some child. Their eyes met briefly, Morgan's observing him coolly before creasing in distaste. Bodie ignored him, lowering the painfully high gaze and huddling down further into his jacket, unconcerned of the prim schoolmaster's opinions of him and suddenly more grateful than ever for his bog-standard schooling.

He sniffed, feeling increasingly sorry for himself.

God bless humble state education.

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Well, another day another...umm, chapter! Any outspoken views on private schools belong (by and large) to me, and all snooty people are modelled on my relatives (Oh, I love them really!) Many thanks again for my reviews and please keep them coming!


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three.

"When my father finds out about this - ,"

"He won't be able to do anything." Cowley snapped over the protest of the stony-faced student, "I think you'll find that CI5 has jurisdiction over the managing director of an imports company miss,"

Standing with his back to the wall, letting his boss do most of the talking, Doyle smiled,

"Perks of the job," he interjected coolly. Paula Isles glared at him defiantly.

"He knows people..."

"And they know us."

Cowley listened to the exchange grimly, going over the facts in his mind. He laced his fingers together and sat forward slightly,

"Listen Paula, we know all about your little enterprise, we know all about your gang..." he ignored the girl's snort of derision and carried on determinedly, "...so, you just think about telling us where you get your supply from and we'll think about being a bit more lenient with you."

Paula gazed back at him darkly, her whole manner decidedly more alarming than that of the other students they'd encountered at Thorsfield. She was moody, unpredictable and, perhaps worst of all, clever. Which, given the silver spoon she'd been born with, seemed more ridiculous than anything else. Here was a kid who had everything and yet still didn't consider it enough.

"You," Paula began distastefully, "Can't keep me here. You have no evidence, you know nothing. So either ask me something intelligent or let me get back to my very expensive schooling."

Cowley cocked an eyebrow at the girl somewhat smugly,

"How much time does possession get you these days Doyle?"

The younger man shrugged nonchalantly,

"Oh I don't know. Couple of months."

Cowley nodded,

"And what about the amount we found hidden in her room. How much would that get her?"

Paula looked up furiously. Doyle thought for a second,

"A year."

"And what about intent to supply."

"Could be looking at about three...if you're lucky."

Cowley laughed mirthlessly and shook his head, seeming to take pleasure in the moment.

"Loose floorboard under the bed," he chuckled at the girl, "Very good hiding place. Unfortunately for you however, my men know every trick in the book."

Doyle smiled darkly at the back,

"Might take a bit to tidy up your room as well. Made a bit of a mess."

Sitting in stormy silence, Paula clenched her fists angrily, her whole face changing colour in ill-disguised fury. Cowley stood up abruptly, gathering papers back into the folder.

"Which, Miss Isles, means that for a little while longer at least, you'll be staying with us. Doyle."

At the mention of his name the younger man stepped forward, prizing the girl from her seat and seeing her out of the doors into the hands of a waiting officer. He smirked as he watched the girl being hauled, fuming, down the corridor. Money, it seemed, didn't always get you what you wanted. He smiled and let himself back into the room where Cowley was staring at the papers before him. As Doyle re-entered he shuffled them back into a pile and took off his glasses.

"Well, that should hold her for a few days, but we're going to need something more if we're going to make it stick. Any news on the poison?"

Doyle shook his head,

"Not at the moment sir. It's either long gone or better hidden."

"Damn," Cowley sighed, "We could do with that...any news on Bodie?"

Doyle blinked, taken by surprise at the sudden change in conversation,

"Not yet sir. Stewart's just got back, said he just went straight in. Fell asleep in the car apparently."

"Did he? Well, with any luck he'll have gone straight to bed."

Doyle smiled and nodded, a silence falling between them.

"Hmm," Cowley mused after a while, "You'll go and see him later?"

"I except so sir," Doyle replied, unsure as to whether it was a question or an order, although it was probably a mixture of both. Cowley nodded,

"Good. Now, come on. That evidence isn't going to find itself."

As Cowley stalked determinedly out of the door Doyle grinned widely,

"Look at that," he whispered to himself, "He cares after all."

"Doyle!"

"Coming sir."

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Teenagers...they're all the same! I came across the drug sentences in one of the episodes (although I forget which one!) can't believe how much they've changed! I was always taught it was around the ten year mark for intent to supply. Still, back to the subject at hand...please, as ever, lovely people that you are, review!


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four.

He'd flapped off Stewart's offers to come in with him and see him settled, protesting that he wasn't an invalid, and that his home wasn't big enough for something to happen to him in the short distance between the door and the bed. Still, his designated driver had insisted on hovering outside until Bodie had got the key in the door, which had been no mean feat given the state of his swirling vision.

He'd done it in the end though, twisting it and staggering over the threshold. He wrenched the key from the door and managed to turn and raise a hand to see Stewart off. The sound of the departing car had been blissful, finally he was alone and could stop playing down how awful he felt. 

He stumbled through to the bedroom slowly, peeling off his jacket and depositing it in a ball on the floor as he went. Tidying up could wait.

The curtains were still drawn and the bed hadn't been made from the morning, not that it bothered him as fell onto it fully clothed, too exhausted to even fetch the medicine from the cabinet. He'd sleep it off, he decided, pressing his aching head against the cool folds of his pillow.

The shivers had got worse again, wracking his whole body involuntarily. His head ached like it had been filled with explosives and by now he could hardly breathe. He didn't have the power to think beyond sleep and so, finally surrounded by comfort and quiet he shut his eyes and let sleep overtake him.

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I know, criminally short right? Well, because I'm kind I'm just going to go and add the next one as well! Enjoy (hopefully!)


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five.

"But they've got Paula!" someone protested, their voice echoing eerily across the metal walls, "How long do you think it'll be before she gives up the rest of us as well?"

Someone else snorted derisively,

"Come on Incy, Paula wouldn't do that!"

The first boy to speak, Incy, a chubby, nervous looking lad glared back angrily,

"Oh yeah? And how do you know that Yates?"

The other boy shrugged,

"Because she wouldn't that's all. Paula's not about to give us up to those pigs."

"But they're not ordinary pigs though are they?" someone else chipped in, "They're CI5, who knows what they'll do to her! Torture, deprivation, starvation - ,"

"Shut up Jarvis!" snarled Yates bitterly, "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"And you do?"

Yates jumped up from the box he'd been sitting on ferociously, fists curled.

"Cut it out Yates," another voice snapped impatiently, "They've got nothing on Paula, we got rid of the poison remember?"

Jarvis shook his head in disbelief, turning back to the last boy with a sneer,

"And what about the drugs they found then Willis?"

Everyone looked about, appalled,

"They found the drugs?" Incy ventured slowly, breathing deeply,

Jarvis nodded,

"I saw them taking them out. Let's face it, they've got Paula long-term and she's not going to let us get away with it if she's not. It's murder remember? They'll be offering her deals right this minute."

Yates swallowed,

"We can go away."

"Where?" asked Willis doubtfully. Yates shrugged,

"Anywhere, we've got enough money, we're eighteen, we don't need to be at school anymore. Let's just pack up and go somewhere for a bit."

"Oh yeah," snorted Jarvis, "That won't look too suspicious will it? Besides, they'll probably have photos of us at every station and airport between here and Edinburgh by now."

"Oh for God's sake," snapped Incy, "What are we going to do?"

"Boys."

Everyone stopped at the sound of a new voice, calm and irritatingly smooth.

"They - they've got Paula," Incy spoke up hesitantly,

"I know," the newcomer breathed coolly, "Don't worry."

"Don't worry?" bit back Yates, "What do you suggest we do instead? Plan the Christmas show?"

The newcomer looked towards the boy fiercely, making him shrink back,

"Don't speak to me like that Yates. Remember who you're talking to."

Yates swallowed nervously,

"Yes, sorry sir."

"Where've you been sir?" Incy asked cautiously, "They took Paula hours ago."

Mr. Morgan cast around his students calmly, waiting until all eyes were fixed on him. He could see the desperation in their eyes, and he liked it.

"Reconnaissance Incy. I've been securing our future. I've got a plan boys. We are going to disappear. It can be done if you know the right people, and luckily I do. But first we've got to get Paula back."

Jarvis blinked,

"Paula? But CI5..."

"I know," Morgan replied calmly, "But she is my pupil and as her teacher it is my job to see her safe. I will not let them have her," he declared dangerously.

Everyone sat in stunned silence, suddenly feeling uneasier than they had been before.

"H - how are we going to do it then sir?" asked Willis slowly, the uncertainty in his voice matching the feelings of the others.

"Well it won't be easy Willis, and it won't be pretty either. I'm afraid from here on in boys, it gets quite heavy. I need to know you're all with me."

There was a long pause.

"All right sir," Jarvis agreed hesitantly. The others nodded cautiously, watching with a degree of alarm as a frightening smirk slipped across the lips of their teacher,

"Good," Morgan cooed darkly, "Good. Now, the first thing we're going to need is transportation."

"For us sir?" asked Willis hopefully.

Morgan grinned,

"In a sense boy. In a sense."

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Ok Pony, you were right, Morgan is involved...and also a bit of a nutcase! (All the best bad guys are though right?!)


	7. Chapter Six

Chapter Six.

"Well," Doyle sighed, sitting down on the edge of the desk, "Frightened or not, she's not saying anything."

Cowley peeled off his glasses and rubbed at his brow,

"No," he agreed gravely, resting his head against his hand, letting his mind run over the evidence before them, "There's no way an eighteen year old girl could mastermind and oversee a drug operation in a school like Thorsfield without help. Who's she covering for?"

"Friends?" suggested Doyle somewhat doubtfully,

"Well we've got people going through lists of her classmates," Cowley sighed wearily, "But would she really be so silent over a few school friends?"

"Maybe she's in a relationship with the dealer. You know what these rich kids are like, bringing home boys they know their parents will hate."

Cowley looked up with a hint of amusement,

"Speaking from experience Doyle?"

The curly-haired officer smiled widely,

"Actually sir I was talking about Bodie."

Cowley stifled a laugh, smiling across the desk,

"Ah yes,"

As silence lapsed across the office, Cowley sat back with a sigh,

"You'd best be off Doyle," he said finally, "We've still got men searching for that poison, and if Paula's going to come up with anything helpful to us I should imagine it'll be after a night spent in the cells. You get yourself off and check on Bodie."

"Thank you sir," Doyle replied, standing up and stretching wearily, glad of the reprieve.

"Oh and Doyle,"

The younger man turned to face his boss, leaning across the table with a stern expression.

"Yes sir?"

"Tell Bodie he's not welcome back for at least a week. I don't want to see him round here sneezing on people when we're trying to run operations."

Doyle smiled, recognising Cowley's way of showing concern when he saw it. He nodded gently.

"I will."

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See? Even the boss is sympathetic (ish!) Man-flu's a deadly thing you know! Anyway, as ever, please review you lovely people! (Flattery work much?)


	8. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven.

The sound of a banging door jolted Bodie from his restless sleep, leaving him at once wishing that it hadn't. 

He hadn't thought it would be possible to feel worse when he'd woken but he did. His eyes seemed sealed shut in protest and his head and limbs felt like lead weights. Everything ached, tingles of pain lacing across his fiery skin. Still he shivered, the room seeming like an igloo as he lay in his thin shirt. He could feel his swollen throat as he breathed in through his mouth, the only part of his head that didn't seem blocked, every breath coming out sharp and ragged.

He frowned, had he even shut the front door when he'd staggered in? Perhaps it was just the wind.

That idea was quickly forgotten at the sound of hushed voices, raising slightly as they reached the threshold of the room itself, upon which they seemed to die down.

"He's got a gun," someone unknown hissed.

"Well then get rid of it," another voice commanded firmly.

Bodie listened in a strange parallel land where the part of his brain that was screaming 'danger' was being drowned out by strange twisting shapes and bright swirling colours. He wasn't even sure that he was properly awake, not helped by the fact that his head seemed to be grappling with the surreal fact that he felt like he was floating above the sheets. Which he doubted he was. 

He could feel hands tracing across his back, and he instinctively flinched against the sharp contact. He heard the dull thud of his holster falling onto the bed and winced as the straps were pulled roughly across his skin and dumped onto the floor.

Eventually the rest of his brain managed to catch up with the colourful fever-world and he managed to briefly grasp part of the situation, forcing his eyes open and taking in a deep rasping breath,

"Who're you," he mumbled groggily, not entirely sure if the sentence had made sense.

No one answered him, although hands continued to search him roughly.

"Nothing else," the first voice reported back.

"Good," replied the second, "Get the others, we'll need help getting him to the car."

There was a brief pause.

"He'll be okay won't he?"

The question was followed by a derisive snort, devoid of any sort of answer. 

As a set of footsteps retreated from the bedroom Bodie tried again, forcing himself to roll onto his back, eliciting more grimacing and a moan of pain. 

As he stared up towards the ceiling a fuzzy figure came into view looming over him, every last feature obscured by his blurred vision and the semi-darkness of the room. As he tried hard to focus, the figure let loose a dry laugh of amusement. He crossed to the curtains, flinging them open abruptly.

Bodie hissed in shock, raising his arms as quickly as he could to block the blinding light, unable to stop the brightness from piercing straight into his head.

"You're going to come with us," the figure answered him eventually, as more footsteps padded into the room, "And don't worry," he continued darkly, "We'll be perfect hosts."

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Oh dear! I'm just too mean! Although I suppose it's not his fault he doesn't know what's happening, flu-enduced hallucinations (speaking from experience) are very, very strange things! The 'floating' was a symptom of mine too! I go all out I'm going to get ill, no point fussing around with half-measures! Lol! 


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight.

Doyle had just been climbing into his car when Cowley had come running across the car park yelling at him urgently. The curly-haired ex-copper had stopped in his tracks, one arm leant casually on the open driver's side door, expecting news on the poison or a sudden confession from Paula, the sentence Cowley had actually opened with had both stunned and chilled him.

"They made a call. They've got Bodie."

"What?"

He hadn't wanted to believe it. Bodie was tucked up in bed, he told himself. He was at home. 

Only he wasn't, and as Doyle had taken in the swinging front door he'd known it was true. Not that it stopped him checking every well-known room, calling out angrily for his partner, half expecting him to stagger out looking confused by the disturbance.

Cowley eventually found Doyle in the bedroom, squatting by the bed running Bodie's discarded holster through his fingers.

"Why take Bodie," he asked in a dangerously controlled voice, not looking up.

Cowley sighed heavily, trying to control his own anger.

"They'll want a trade. You might have been right about that relationship Doyle, someone certainly wants Paula back."

Doyle clenched his teeth, his jaw set angrily.

"He's ill," he said in an edgy tone, disregarding Cowley's comment as the fury of what had happened took over, his voice raised dangerously, "You saw him! He didn't stand a chance."

"Doyle." Cowley snapped somewhat more harshly than he'd intended. He softened slightly, "I'll alert the hospitals," Doyle flinched slightly, only half-listening as Cowley continued to lay out the plan of action. The same thoughts going through his mind. The same image of an ill Bodie being man-handled out of bed repeating itself over and over. He gripped the holster tightly as he fumed silently.

He was going to get those bastards. 

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Another shorty, so again I'm going to add the next one as well! I'm just too good to you! Lol! 


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine. 

He didn't know where he was, which wasn't surprising considering the effort it took to simply remember who he was. It was a storage place of sorts, that much he could make out, listening to the eerie footsteps bouncing off the high walls and echoing around the empty space. It was wet too, which he knew from the fact that the front of his shirt had soaked through in seconds. A mind-numbingly painful iciness that set his teeth on edge and intensified his shivering.

Although some of the initial grogginess had worn off, it had been rapidly replaced with pure exhaustion and a strangely comforting sense that he was starting to lose his grip on reality, bizarrely intense images flicking through his mind like a disjointed slide-show, bright and disturbing. He struggled in vain to try and make sense of the events happening to him, only getting so far before a shudder or coughing fit interrupted, scattering the few parts he'd managed to piece together. 

He could do nothing but lie on the damp ground, breathing heavily through the pain and trying to take in anything he could.

"You sure he's going to be all right?" asked a concerned voice,

"For God's sake, yes!" someone else snapped back.

"But he's shaking!" The first voice again, protesting with a hint of panic,

"It's the fever," another voice added helpfully.

"Exactly, he should be in bed."

A vague snort, a combination of genuine amusement and despair,

"He was."

"That's not funny."

There was a short silence as the group stared across at their captive, lying on his front on the damp ground, shaking.

"This is crazy," a different voice uttered quietly. 

"Bit late for that now!"

"But he's CI5! You know happens when someone takes one of their own!"

"They've got one of ours," someone reasoned.

"Yeah, but we've not got guns have we? This is hardly our day job! Let's face it, we're just a bunch of students."

"Murderers don't you mean?"

"What?"

"Like it or not that's what we are."

"We didn't put the poison in it did we?" someone snapped irritably.

"We knew it was there though."

There was a sobering silence.

"Well that's why we're doing this isn't it? As soon as we've got Paula, we'll be off. He'll go back to his police friends and we'll disappear. Everyone's happy."

"Happy?" snorted someone, taking offence at the choice of words. 

"I don't see why we can't just go off now. Why do we even need Paula back?"

"We don't," another voice snorted, "It's Morgan."

"Why's he so keen to get her back anyway?"

Bodie, his hearing fluctuating between moments of clarity and long stretches of static and high-pitched whistling, shuffled painfully on the floor, trying to turn his head in the direction of the nervous chatter.

"Why do you think?" 

"What - you mean...Paula and he...?"

"Exactly."

"Impossible. He - he's her teacher!" 

"So?"

Another long pause, interrupted by one of Bodie's coughing fits, this one considerably more painful than the last. 

Another pause. 

"He's getting worse isn't he?"


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten.

"Tim!"

The boy turned round startled, watching with apprehension as the CI5 agent pounded across the quad towards him.

"Mr. Doyle," he replied cautiously. Around them students poured from class, clutching books and folders and talking loudly. Doyle didn't slow his step, catching Tim by the elbow and drawing him into a covered area where they could talk privately. Tim allowed himself to be led nervously. If Doyle and his partner had been intimidating earlier, then the look on the man's face told him the latest visit would be far worse.

"Paula's Isles' gang. Where would they go to ground?"

Tim faltered,

"Ground?"

"Yes!"

The snapped syllable made him jump.

"I - I don't know," he gabbled as Doyle punched at one of the pillars in frustration, "Honest I don't! I might know them but I'm not _one _of them. They don't tell me much at all!"

Doyle turned to him almost frantically,

"Well what _do_ they tell you?"

"I only know what I told you this morning."

Doyle snorted in anguished disbelief.

"Has something happened?" the student ventured bravely. Doyle turned to look at him sharply.

"Yeah. Those friends of yours can add kidnapping to the drug and murder charges for a start."

"I told you, they're not my - ," he stopped short, blinking, "Kidnapping?"

"Yeah," came the terse reply.

"Who?"

As soon as he'd asked, Tim began to regret it. The look that swung in his direction was nothing short of murderous. He swallowed nervously, taking a stab in the dark.

"Not...not one of your lot?"

"Yeah," Doyle sneered back, "One of my lot."

Tim stared back at him, appalled.

"They don't _tell _me anything..." he began, "But they do trust me. If I hear anything, or if I can find anything out, I will."

Doyle looked up, vaguely surprised. Eventually he nodded, too emotionally spent to shower him with gratitude. Wearily he turned to head for the car, mentally skimming through any avenues of enquiry left open to him. He couldn't just sit and wait, that much was obvious. As he stepped onto the path he heard Tim stir behind him and paused at the sound of the boy's hesitant voice.

"Your partner, the one this morning…he's sick isn't he?" he asked quietly. Doyle didn't bother facing him, letting his silence answer the question. Tim nodded, eyes flicking from side to side as if checking his surroundings for potential danger. He licked nervously at his lips, clearly grappling with what was coming next.

"I think Mr. Morgan must be too," the boy said eventually, "Because no one's seen him since this morning."

With that he pulled his bag further across his shoulder and set off silently across the quad.

Doyle watched him go, brain in over-drive. He gripped his keys tightly and turned to head for the car with renewed enthusiasm.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven.

The ringing phone broke Cowley from his thoughts with a start and he grabbed up the handset angrily.

"Yes!" he snapped.

"Now, now Mr. Cowley," a deep voice growled back at him, "I'd be a bit nicer if I were you, after all, I've got something I think you want."

Cowley paused in surprise, gathering himself before replying as calmly as he could,

"I could say the same to you."

The voice chuckled deeply and Cowley narrowed his eyes as he focused, trying hard to distinguish anything familiar or unusual about it.

"Indeed. But then again, I don't think your guest is in the same condition that mine is."

In his analysis of the wording, 'mine' instead of 'ours,' Cowley almost managed to overlook the meaning of the sentence altogether, it's implication suddenly hitting him hard,

"Now you listen to me! If my man is harmed in any way - ,"

"No Mr. Cowley, you listen to me. Paula will be returned. If that is done, then your man will be released. It's simple really, so let's not make it too difficult."

Cowley massaged his brow wearily, weighing up the options of which there weren't many.

"When and where?" he replied finally.

"Tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning?" he repeated incredulously, "But Bodie's sick! He needs - ,"

For the second time in the conversation Cowley found himself cut infuriatingly short.

"Tomorrow morning Mr. Cowley. Nine o'clock. I'll be back in touch with a location."

Then the call ended.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Next one on its way!!


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve.

"It's done," Morgan stated simply, sweeping grandly into the building and pulling off a pair of thick leather gloves. As a subdued silence greeted him he looked across at his students, sitting in an untidy circle on upturned crates and boxes, their expressions a combination of resentment and fear.

"What did they say?" asked Willis quietly.

Morgan smiled eerily and gave them a casual shrug,

"Oh, the usual. Don't hurt their man or else, that sort of thing."

The answer was hardly filled with the reassurance the collection of boys was looking for.

"But did they agree?" Yates pressed hopefully.

"Well of course they did," Morgan scoffed nonchalantly, "They've not got a choice if they want him back."

All eyes turned towards the prone figure on the floor, whose movements had been decreasing alarmingly hour by hour. Morgan looked back towards them,

"Is he much trouble?"

The boys exchanged glances,

"He's barely moving now sir, in fact I think he's practically unconscious," Jarvis informed him by way of an answer.

"I think he needs a doctor," Incy added, glancing around at the others for support.

"He's not going anywhere!" Morgan bellowed, frightening them with his ferocity, "_I_...I mean, _we_, get Paula back in the morning. Then, and only then, do we give him up."

The boys sat in silence, all eyes resting on the wheezing figure. Things were starting to reach boiling point, and as if sensing it, Bodie suddenly broke into a violent coughing fit, gasping for breath, the severity of the attack unsettling the boys and particularly Incy, who defied the glare of his teacher by crossing the gap and dropping to his knees beside the sick man. He gripped Bodie's shoulders gently, rubbing his back awkwardly until the coughing subsided.

The group watched him uneasily, loyalties torn in all directions.

"There," Incy said softly to Bodie, regardless if the man could hear him or not, "That's better."

"Oh for God's sake!" Morgan snapped, stalking across the concrete and grabbing a handful of Incy's blazer, trying to haul him roughly from Bodie's side. As he did he paused, appearing almost shocked. Incy, still in his tight grip, followed his gaze nervously.

"Blood," he mumbled, stunned, "He's coughing up blood,"

The others paled visibly.

"Oh God," whispered someone, "That's bad."

"It's gone to his lungs."

Incy looked up into Morgan's shocked face, pleading for the man's common sense to win through.

"He needs to go to a hospital sir...sir?"

Morgan wasn't listening, he was still staring. Slowly, a sinister smile slipped across his face, so frightening that even Incy slid back in fear.

"No hospital," he whispered darkly. "No hospital."

With that Morgan turned on his heel and stalked out of the building, chuckling softly as he went.

"Jesus," Willis voiced quietly, as they all sat in stunned silence, "He's lost it."

Yates swallowed nervously,

"What are we going to do?"

The four boys exchanged glances. That was the problem. No one knew.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dum-dum-duuummm!! You wouldn't know it judging by this, but I'm honestly not a sadist, lol! He's just a little bit cuter when he's hurt! Ah well, I'm sure he'll get better…or will he?


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen.

Cowley had got precious little done since the ominous phone call.

He felt as though he was up against a brick wall, unable to make progress and incapable of clearing his mind of the chilling images that ran through it.

It was at times like these that he berated himself for getting so involved with his men. It was understandable that there would be an element of worry over the well being of his employees, whom to a certain extent he was duty-bound to, but in the case of Bodie and Doyle it went deeper. They were his best men and besides that his favourite too. There was just a certain spark to them, a complicated mixture of brutality and humor that had taken him a while to get his head round but that he had grown immensely fond of.

The place seemed quieter without Bodie chipping in with unhelpful comments, grinning broadly and coming across the radio, composed but with the merest hint of amusement. He was such a strong and determined character it was difficult to think of him so helpless and dependent upon them. No wonder Doyle had had to get out of the office, he thought wryly, draining the rest of his scotch.

They had nothing. Nothing at all to work with.

"It's Morgan!"

Cowley jumped as the shout carried through the doorway, followed by an animated-looking Doyle. He narrowed his eyes in confusion,

"Morgan?"

Doyle nodded eagerly, his eyes brightened by the scent of the hunt. Cowley paused, allowing things to click into place.

"Morgan," he repeated again, his eyes flickering to the phone as he tried to recall the sound of the voice. It could have been, he supposed cautiously. Doyle continued determinedly,

"No one's laid eyes on him since we took Paula in this morning, and the way he acted to us questioning Tim...He and Paula must be having some sort of relationship, you said yourself whoever's behind this is desperate to get her back!"

"More desperate than you know," Cowley informed him seriously, pulling the glasses from his eyes and calmly and absently folding them up, "We got a call."

Doyle's excitement sobered rapidly.

"Bodie?" he asked gruffly. Cowley shook his head,

"He didn't say exactly."

"But he mentioned him?"

Cowley glanced down at the desk, the action alone telling Doyle everything he needed to know.

"Aye. He did. They want a swap for Paula."

Doyle nodded slowly, taking the information in,

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow?!"

Predictably, Doyle blew up at once, leaning forward across the desk to shout at him angrily, "Bodie's sick! They can't just leave him god knows where all night!"

"Well," Cowley said levelly, not willing to admit he'd also been through the same process on hearing that part of the plan, "That was before we knew Morgan was involved. Now we've got something to work with at least."

He tucked his glasses into his jacket pocket and stood from the desk, gazing across at his man with a steady gaze.

"Come along Doyle. There's someone I think we need to speak to again."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen.

Paula Isles had changed as a result of being kept in one of CI5's cells. If they could even be called that.

She was rebellious by nature, always had been, the result of hands-off parenting and a neglected childhood being cared for by a string of inept nannies that she had one by one driven to resignation. She was tough too, for girls of her background at least, and that had always been a source of immense pride for her. Paula Isles was invincible. Or at least she had been.

Being locked away however, even for just the eight hours she'd already been held, was undoubtedly the most terrifying experience she'd ever been through. The room had been bare, and lit by a strangely bright bulb. Pipes zigzagged around the walls, hissing and clicking. Probably carrying nothing more sinister than hot water, but every noise making her jump. Doors had banged and somewhere, possibly in the room next door, someone had cried.

Doyle watching her evenly across the table, noticed the differences between her and the girl she'd been earlier. Instead of sitting up tall, she was bent over, instead of gazing squarely back at him, her eyes were flicking nervously about the room.

Shame really, he thought absently, pretty, intelligent kid like that could've been anything, and yet this was the path she'd managed to pick out for herself. One which she was clearly regretting.

"Paula," Cowley began coldly, "Tell us about Morgan."

She looked up startled, her blue eyes wide with alarm,

"Morgan?" she repeated.

"Mr. Morgan, your teacher."

She ran a nervous tongue across her cracked lips.

"He's my theology teacher," she said slowly, glancing between the pair.

Cowley smiled dryly,

"We're not talking about academics Paula. We're talking about relationships, yours and his."

"I - we don't..."

Doyle stepped forward, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbow. He leant forward across the desk, unnervingly close to her, his face crossed with a smirk,

"Come on now Paula, you don't want to lie to us again."

"If you help us out Paula," Cowley interjected more evenly from his seat, "We might see to it that you end up sleeping in your own bed tonight."

She swallowed uncertainly, unsure of her options.

"We already know he's your supplier," Doyle put in,

"So telling us about your relationship won't be doing him anymore harm than he's already in," Cowley reasoned with a manipulatively soothing tone.

There was a long pause as Paula struggled with the choice before her. Mr. Morgan was everything the other adults in her life had not been, attentive, concerned, caring, protective. Morgan filled the void where her parents should have been. She at least owed him her loyalty.

Cowley watched the emotions raging within her and moved to play on these with impressive expertise.

"Morgan has taken someone hostage for your safe release," he informed her, managing to keep his tone light. Paula looked up in shock and a vague hint of something else besides. Pride? Adoration? "But the man they've taken isn't in a very good way."

"He's sick Paula." Doyle added urgently. The girl frowned,

"Sick?"

"Yeah."

"How sick?"

Cowley's expression hardened,

"Sick enough," he softened again quickly, "I'm sure you don't want another death on your conscience."

The girl gasped loudly, the sentence obviously coming as a hammer blow.

"That was - ,"

"Morgan?" interrupted Cowley. Paula nodded and the Scotsman continued, his voice still comforting and soothing as he addressed her, "Morgan suggested you use the poison?"

She nodded again.

"Paula. He's gone too far. This whole situation began because his actions led to the deaths of two of his students, now he's holding someone else's life in the balance, and he's doing it in your name..."

"But I didn't ask him to!" she cried out suddenly, "I wish he hadn't!"

Cowley, sensing victory, moved in for the kill,

"I know you didn't," he smiled softly, "I know you didn't. But you can help end this. Tell us where they are."

"I don't know," she shook her head, "He's got somewhere he kept secret from us. His bolthole, for emergencies. They'll have gone there."

Doyle turned angrily, sending an empty chair clattering to the ground in his frustration. Paula flinched.

"I don't know where it is!" she repeated desperately.

Cowley nodded slowly, continuing to smile comfortingly at her, moving a hand across the desk to lay on top of hers, lulling her further and further into his confidence. Grateful for the fact that, tough as she liked to think herself, in the end she was just a neglected young girl.

"Well then in that case," he said calmly, "I might just have another idea."

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Rainy Saturday, bored and ill means two chapters for you lot!


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen.

"Yes?"

"Hello again Mr. Cowley," the voice sneered across the line. Cowley looked up, locking eyes with Doyle, the younger man gazing back at him intensely, "I hope you've had time to think over my proposals."

"I have."

"And?"

"There's someone here I think you should talk to."

Morgan blinked, not expecting the turn in the conversation, and starting to feel uneasy. Outside people were passing by the phone box, talking, carrying shopping. He scanned each one for any unusual behavior, feeling his brow prickling with the sudden heat of fear.

"You listen to me - ," he began viciously, but stopped in his tracks as another voice crackled across the telephone.

"Richard?"

"Paula?" His breath caught in his throat, "I - it's going to be all right. I'm going to get you out. I've got one of their men. We - we'll go away somewhere, it's all organised and - ,"

"You've got to let him go Rich."

Morgan stopped in confusion, the voice sounding so unlike the vibrant girl he knew. He had assumed she'd be delighted with his efforts, and yet she didn't sound it at all.

"What?" he hissed.

"He's sick Rich," she tried again, "You've got to let him go!"

"But what about you?" he all but shrieked, the confusion further compounding his anger.

"I don't want to be a part of this anymore. We've caused too much pain already."

"No."

"Please Rich. Just release him. Tell me where you are."

"NO!" The anguished shout drew looks from outside on the pavement, but suddenly Morgan didn't care, everything was falling apart before his eyes, "No, no, no, no, no." He could hear himself rambling, "Put Cowley back on. Now!"

There was a short pause before the Scotsman spoke up again,

"Morgan - ,"

Morgan was in no mood to listen. His carefully orchestrated plan had dissolved before his eyes, he wanted control back. He needed control back, and if he couldn't get that through Paula, he knew exactly what to do next. He chuckled deeply, the sinister tone unnerving Cowley more than he cared to let on.

"Say goodbye to your man Cowley."

There was a crackle, and then the line went dead.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Well, due to insufficient time I've decided to end this story here. Thanks for reading everyone…nah, I kid! Next one up soon!


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen.

"Bastards!"

The shout made everyone jump, and they looked at one another anxiously as their teacher strode into the building, face flushed with anger, fists balled by his side, kicking at anything that lay in his path, empty boxes and scraps of litter flying through the air.

They all knew Morgan had a temper, they'd witnessed it on several occasions, but this was something new. He was muttering to himself, shaking his head, eyes narrowed and staring into space. If they thought he'd lost it before, then this was proof.

"Bastards!" They all ducked as he bent to collect a brick, throwing it past them with only inches to spare.

"What happened?" Yates whispered, wanting to be told but at the same time afraid to ask.

Morgan didn't appear to hear him. Picking up a discarded plank of wood and plunging it into what was left of an old window.

"Jesus Morgan!" snapped Jarvis.

The rebuke seemed to make a connection and the man turned to them, eyes wild with fury. The group gazed back at him squarely, sensing his fall from grace. There was no way they could rely on him any longer.

"What happened?" Jarvis replied, deliberately speaking slowly and purposefully.

"What do you think?!" he screamed back. Their faces told him that they couldn't, or wouldn't guess. "They've turned Paula, that's what happened!"

He was greeted by a deafening chorus of silence.

"So..." began Willis carefully, "It's over then?" he sounded relieved.

"No Willis," Morgan bit back at the boy, drawing looks of scorn from the others, "It's not over. Not by a long shot."

Yates got to his feet angrily,

"But we've got no other reason to carry on! Two people are dead and you said yourself that Paula's been turned!"

Willis stood beside him,

"We've been talking. We're thinking about giving ourselves up."

Morgan's eyes blazed in fury.

"You stupid little cowards!" he hissed poisonously before appearing to notice something else, "Where's Ince?" They stared back at him hard, "Well?!"

Willis took a deep breath,

"He's gone to call for a doctor."

"What?!"

"Well what else is there left to do?" Jarvis asked stonily.

Morgan stared back at him blankly, eyes narrowing as his mind drifted elsewhere, a smile crossing his lips.

"Kill their man of course."

The boys baulked, the bravado slipping slightly.

"No...sir, you're not serious?"

"Oh I am boys."

"You can't!"

Morgan suddenly laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls and echoing around the building. He turned towards the unmoving figure on the floor, jaw clenched.

"Watch me."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I hope you lot like cliffhangers, lol! Thanks again for reviewing everyone, and so promptly and frequently as well, it is very much appreciated! Particularly now I'm practically bed-bound with a horrible, icky cold. I guess it's punishment for putting Bodie through the mills! That's karma for you!


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen.

The boy hopped around impatiently at the front desk, willing the receptionist to dial the numbers quicker. Her eyes flickered up briefly to meet his, and his sense of urgency finally seemed to strike a chord.

"Sir," she said into the receiver, "There's a boy here to see you. His name's Raynard."

Tim smiled at her gratefully, feeling a pang of anxiety as they waited in silence. Skipping school was not all that new to him. Skipping school during an algebra test was certainly not new. Skipping school during an algebra test to relay information to a government organisation regarding the criminal activities of his peers however, was.

It took Doyle less than a minute to get to the lobby, bursting through the doors with a bang that startled everyone.

"Tim," he said before he'd even got halfway towards the boy, "What is it?"

"One of them got in touch with me," the student began quickly as Cowley puffed somewhat breathlessly through the doors behind them, "He told me where they were."

Doyle turned towards his boss instantly, every last muscle itching to get going. Cowley ignored him momentarily, more concerned with the facts.

"Why did they call you lad?"

Tim hesitated briefly, and at once Doyle's restlessness turned to anxiety.

"Tim?"

The boy took a deep breath,

"They want me to get a doctor," he didn't miss the glance of alarm that passed between the men in front of him. Cowley nodded grimly.

"Right. Tell us the way then lad, tell us the way."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I wish I'd had the opportunity of slipping off to CI5 whenever I had a maths test! Results couldn't have been any worse if I wasn't there to be honest! Lol! Oh, and I know it's fairly unlikely he'd just turn up there, but was re-watching one of the episodes the other day (my comfort viewing when I'm ill!) and there was some boy there drifting round headquarters! So sod it! If they can, I can! Next one on the way!


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen.

The building was a twenty-minute drive from the school grounds. A series of condemned warehouses and storage units badly fenced in and waiting for the inevitable demolition.

As the CI5 men crept closer the first thing they heard was raised voices, an argument, or judging by the way it sounded, a fight.

Doyle locked eyes with Cowley. The older man nodded knowing full well the chaos presented his men the perfect opportunity to get in close. Doyle took off across the scruffy ground like a derby winner, flanked by two others. Cowley followed at a distance until all of them were pressed against the side of the building. Doyle stole a glance through the window, watching with a degree of surprise as Morgan and the boys squared off with one another. Between their legs he got a glimpse of something else. Something that made his stomach turnover. Someone lying unmoving on the ground. He swallowed and turned back to Cowley.

"It's all going to kick off in a minute sir," he whispered in a low voice, "Three boys facing Morgan down."

As Cowley opened his mouth to reply there was the crashing of grass being trampled underfoot nearby, and another boy rounded the corner of the building, stopping in fright as he came across them crouched in the shadows.

Abruptly Doyle drew his gun, pointing it squarely at the boy and pulling him down onto the ground roughly in one fluid movement, driving his head down into the concrete and hissing at him to stay quiet.

Wisely, Incy did as he was told.

"Right." Cowley whispered as he watched the boy spread himself across the concrete, sensing the satisfaction it gave Doyle to get his hands on just one member of the gang. "Go."

The Scotsman had, as it turned out, picked the perfect moment to storm the building, for just as Doyle and the others crept towards the open doors, Morgan sprang at his students like an unleashed tiger, pouncing on top of them and sending the lot to the floor where they scrapped in an untidy mass brawl. A buddle of legs, arms and swearing, furious punches being thrown left, right and centre, everyone oblivious to the happenings around them.

They didn't register the CI5 men until they were surrounding them, weapons drawn, shouting for peace and pulling them apart.

"Bastards!" Morgan yelled like a madman as Doyle grabbed him roughly by the front of his shirt and hauled him up off the floor, "You bastards!" he made a wild swing which Doyle avoided easily, catching the arm and twisting it roughly until the teacher yelled out in pain.

The boys watched it happen with a combined sense of fear and retribution.

"Tell me why I shouldn't break it!" Doyle snapped venomously, adding more pressure and watching through darkly narrowed eyes as Morgan's face contorted in agony.

Around them, no one said a word. Everyone stood back, happy to let Morgan suffer further. However their silent consent had almost the opposite effect on Doyle, because that moment of soundlessness only served to remind him what was missing. Or rather, who was missing. Who was not there to pull him back and stop him from doing something he'd regret.

He let go of Morgan suddenly, face creasing in disgust.

"Get him out of here."

In amongst the general chaos, Incy had crept back into the building behind the CI5 men, braving his fears to kneel at Bodie's side, one hand resting on his shoulder almost tenderly as he peered down in concern,

"We've called a doctor, and your friends are here now," he whispered gently, "You'll be all better soon."

Cowley, who had stood in stony silence, turned to his men uneasily,

"Get rid of him as well!" he yelled. Another of the agents hurried to accomplish the demand, grasping Incy by the arm and pulling him away.

Doyle was the next one to reach his partner, falling to his knees beside him.

"Bodie?" he called out hopefully, shaking him gently, "Bodie!"

There was no response. Which was hardly surprising given how he looked. His shirt was cold and wet, his breathing ragged, there was blood on the collar of his shirt and his hair was plastered to his hot, damp forehead. Doyle could feel the heat radiating off him just from where he was sat. His jaw set angrily as he tried to control his emotions. Cowley joined him quietly.

"Don't worry son," he said gently, resting a hand on Bodie's arm, "We're going to get you the best."

Doyle watched his partner's chest rise and fall rhythmically, something almost soothing about it. He bent forward to lay his hand gently across Bodie's brow,

"Yeah. Don't worry mate," he said softly, his voice sounding strange to his own ears, "You're going to be fine."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ok, so he's safe! Granted, not in the best of health - join the club - (sneezes violently) but safe none-the-less! As always, please review!


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen.

Bodie hated waking up in hospitals. It was the most disconcerting feeling, particularly if it wasn't the last place you'd remembered having drifted off, which in his case it wasn't.

His hearing was the first thing to return. His first reintroduction to the world courtesy of the sound of heels clicking across a hard floor. The smell was the next thing, strong disinfectant and flowers mixed together. It was then that that his symptoms had made an unwelcome return. His head pounding angrily, his throat scratching away as ever.

He took a deep breath and tried to recall what had happened. He remembered a school, falling into bed, voices, and being wet and cold. Slowly, bit by bit it trickled back to him and as the realisation of what had gone on hit him, he opened his eyes cautiously.

Doyle was staring back at him, his relief evident. Bodie smiled,

"Afternoon," he croaked sleepily, it having seemed like an age since he'd last spoken. Doyle raised an eyebrow in mild amusement.

"Morning don't you mean?"

"How long have I been out?"

Doyle pulled a face, thinking about it briefly,

"Apparently since about four o'clock yesterday afternoon."

Bodie sighed deeply, leaning forward to glance at the clock on the opposite wall of the ward. It was eleven. Nearly lunch, he thought vaguely. He shifted in the bed, wincing as he tried to pull himself upright. Doyle stepped forward to pull up the cushions, not stepping back until he was sure his partner was settled.

"Cheers," Bodie offered, laying back against the pillows and closing his eyes, his head feeling like a lead block. Suddenly something occurred to him and he blinked across at Doyle. "You know it was Morgan don't you? The bloke from the school? He was Paula's supplier, and more besides if you ask me."

Doyle smiled,

"Yeah, we know. He's currently enjoying the decor of the CI5 cells."

Bodie grinned back, closing his eyes again, wishing that the exhaustion would leave him for just a moment.

"How are you feeling?" his partner questioned eventually.

"Oh you know," Bodie offered back cheerily, "Head like a ten ton weight, shivering like a naked Eskimo and throat like a bush fire. You?"

Doyle chuckled, his relief at the sound of the dry and familiar humour almost overwhelming.

"Yeah. I'm all right."

A comfortable silence settled between them, and Doyle settled himself into the armchair beside the bed, watching the comings and goings of the ward. A familiar voice made him turn his head, and at once he took his feet from the bed and sat up straight.

"Watch out," he said quietly, "Here comes Cowley."

Bodie, eyes still clamped shut, smiled wearily,

"Shall I ham it up a bit for the old man do you think?"

Cowley, reaching earshot quicker than expected quirked an unamused brow in his direction,

"I shouldn't think that would be necessary Bodie," he replied quickly, making the invalid start slightly, an action which was clearly painful. Doyle grinned in response, glad to be witness to the banter between his partner and his boss once more. Cowley watched them both with a stormy expression that didn't necessarily display his true emotions. The truth was the return of Bodie's ill advised and often miss-timed humour was more welcome than he let on. Even if his patience where that was concerned would only be short-lived.

Someone cleared their throat behind the trio, and Cowley turned back to them with an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry - Bodie, this is Dr. Morris. He's been taking care of you."

"Much obliged," Bodie replied, eyes still closed as he doubted he'd be able to hold them open for long at a time.

"So what's the prognosis?" asked Doyle sitting forward to listen,

"Listen to you," Bodie mumbled softly at him,

"Well Mr. Bodie," Dr. Morris began, stepping around the side of the bed to lay his notes down on the cabinet. Bodie managed to force his eyes open, sensing that if anything, the next bit was the part he should listen to, "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that you have a nasty case of influenza. There are several varieties circulating this year, and yours is actually one of the rarer strains we've seen..."

Bodie snorted,

"Of course."

"...and I'm sorry to say its symptoms are a little more severe than the others also..."

"So I've noticed."

"...In addition to that I'm afraid that due to your prolonged exposure to the virus, untreated, not to mention the fact that you spent close to ten hours lying on damp, unclean ground, it has spread to your chest and you've developed a case of viral pneumonia."

Bodie blinked,

"Pneumonia?"

Morris nodded,

"Yes. Which is why there was evidence of haemoptysis..."

"Of what?"

"Blood," Doyle filled in helpfully. Bodie looked over at him, none-the-wiser,

"Blood?" he repeated.

"The gang decided to send for a doctor when you started coughing up blood Bodie," Cowley informed him gravely. Bodie nodded,

"Well, that'll explain the throat then," he replied casually. Cowley rolled his eyes.

"It shouldn't be too difficult to treat," Dr. Morris continued over the banter, "You're young, healthy, fit..."

Bodie smiled,

"You're not too bad yourself."

Doyle stifled a snort of amusement,

"...I'd say three to four weeks depending on how you react to the anti-biotics," Morris cleared away the papers, tidying them back into the folder before turning towards his patient, "We'd like to keep you one more night just to be sure, but if everything looks all right, then we'll be happy to release you tomorrow morning."

Bodie sighed deeply, relaxing back further into his pillow, accepting the situation with grace. He nodded,

"Right. Thanks."

"So now you have to take it easy," Doyle added as Dr. Morris made his excuses and left. Bodie gave him a lop-sided grin,

"Surrounded by beautiful nurses, I'll try but it could be difficult."

Doyle grinned,

"I'll bet," as a particularly attractive looking nurse strode past, blonde hair bobbing behind her, he exchanged a roguish look with his partner, "And of course I'll be here to help you out."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Well, what are partners for?"

The pair grinned at one another boyishly and Cowley shook his head at them in a mixture of annoyance and fondness. As he noticed Bodie's eyes flickering shut again he stepped forward,

"I've got to be getting back now lad. People to question etcetera," he stepped closer again, his hand outstretched. Bodie took it pleasantly surprised, "Good to see you back."

"Thank you sir."

With that Cowley turned on his heel and strode from the ward, Bodie and Doyle watching him go in silence. Eventually Bodie sighed,

"Never a good sign that,"

"What?"

"Him," Bodie nodded towards the door, "Shaking my hand. Always means something bad is going to happen."

"Happen_ed_ mate," Doyle corrected him, "We're on the home straight now."

"Speak for yourself."

Doyle stretched, shifting in his chair uncomfortably and rooting around in his pockets for something. Triumphantly he pulled out some coins.

"I'm going for a coffee. Get you anything?" Bodie shook his head and Doyle stood up with a smile, "Don't go anywhere."

"Would I?"

As his partner headed off down the ward, head turning predictably as a pretty brunette brushed past him, Bodie smiled. Okay, so he still felt awful but at least it was a definite improvement on living dead. Awful he could cope with, he thought as he turned slowly onto his side and settled down. He was convinced that with a bit more sleep 'awful' could turn into 'better' which was definitely a state he wanted to reacquaint himself with. A bit of shut-eye never hurt anyone he smiled lazily. Besides, lightning never struck twice. That was fact. Or, was that urban legend?

Either way, as soon as his eyes shut he was out for the count. Finally able to get some much needed peace and quiet.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Just the epilogue left now! This was never going to be the longest story about the boys ever; I wasn't going for an epic, I just wanted to wet my toes! Considering it's my first foray into the CI5 world I just wanted to make it episode-like. Or at least that was the general idea! As always, please review for the penultimate time! Oh, and many thanks to my mate Jess, a medical student (nearly qualified) who answered several questions about flu, pneumonia and other things that had no connection with what we'd been talking about before! I knew she'd come in useful one day! Lol!


	21. Epilogue

Epilogue.

"Tim!"

For Tim Raynard getting accosted by CI5 agents was becoming something of a regular part of the school day. This time however he didn't mind nearly so much as he laid eyes on the tall figure striding confidently towards him with the merest hint of a smile.

"Mr. Bodie!" he said with a degree surprise as the imposing figure came to a stand still before him, "Where's Mr. Doyle?"

Bodie's smile spread wider, his eyes twinkling in amusement,

"Mr. Doyle," he began with exaggeration, "Is talking to the headmaster."

Tim nodded, he didn't need to ask what it was about. He could guess.

"How are you feeling?" he tried instead. Bodie nodded,

"Much better. Thanks to you."

Tim gazed down at his feet, embarrassed.

"Oh - well - you know," he shrugged, "If they hadn't called me - ," Tim let the rest of the sentence hang, "I think they were really worried about you."

"I can have that effect on people," the older man replied dryly.

Tim blinked up at him. If there was one thing that he knew about himself, then it was that he was never going to be a 'Bodie.' His strengths lay more in studies, political activism and theology, still, part of him envied the action-man lifestyle, dangerous though it was. He and Doyle lived out every boy's childhood fantasy, and although he'd seen first hand the sort of danger it could bring with it, he couldn't help but continue to be in awe of them.

"Thanks all the same," Bodie continued, sensing the need for something to fill the silence. Tim nodded, looking away shyly. Bodie began to cough,

"Always the last thing to go isn't it?" the boy ventured quietly.

"So I've noticed."

From across the quad there was the sound of doors banging open and Doyle strode into view, stalking across the sunlit pavement towards them, shades firmly in place, one hand in his pocket, the epitome of cool. As he drew level with the pair he paused, resting one elbow casually on Bodie's shoulder,

"All right Tim?" he questioned. The boy nodded,

"Yes thank you. I take it everything's all right here as well? Politically I mean. I take it the Sultan never got wind of what went on. That's why they called you in instead of the drugs squad. International relations, things like that."

Bodie exchanged a look with his partner,

"He's good," he muttered. Doyle grinned,

"Fancy a job when you get out of this place?"

Bodie adopted a look of mock horror,

"Don't listen to him! Run!"

Tim grinned, enjoying watching the pair bounce off one another,

"I think I'll stick to academics for now thanks," he laughed before adopting a more serious expression, "How - ," he hesitated, taking a deep breath, "How are Paula and the others?"

"They'll be all right in the long-run," Doyle informed him simply,

"First offences, signs of remorse. Judge might be lenient," Bodie continued.

"And Mr. Morgan?"

There was a long silence.

"Not such a good out-look for him," Bodie answered, sensing Doyle tense angrily at the name.

Tim blinked,

"Right," he took in the information for a second before looking up with a smile and shrugging, "Oh well, never liked theology anyway."

Both men chuckled, the class warning bell interrupting them sharply. Tim sighed,

"I'd better be going."

Bodie and Doyle nodded. As students began to stream through the area, a stampede of hormones and excited chatter Tim turned towards them,

"It was good to see you both again," he called. The pair simply nodded their goodbyes, watching as he was swallowed up by the tidal wave of students.

"Nice kid," Bodie commented. Doyle stood next to him quietly, his thoughts following the same line. Eventually Bodie sighed, clapping his partner across the shoulders and rubbing his hands together eagerly, "You buying this time?"

"Yeah all right. How much does an orange juice cost these days?""

Bodie deflated visibly,

"Orange juice?"

"Yeah," Doyle replied innocently, as if the idea was nothing out of the ordinary, "You are still on anti-biotics. It's orange juice or nothing. Come on."

He turned and headed for the car, leaving a despondent Bodie standing behind him in the sun.

"Ray!" he whined child-like. Doyle was having none of it,

"Come on!"

Bodie let loose a long-suffering sigh and threw his eyes skywards. He'd changed his mind, forget living dead, forget awful, forget better. What he wanted to feel was drunk. Still, he grinned, there was always the orange juice and vodka trick. Oh yes. Somehow he got the feeling that the evening wasn't going to be a total waste after all.

"Bodie!"

"Coming."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

So there we have it. Done and dusted. The end of my first trip into the world of CI5. I hope it was acceptable for all. A thousand thank you's to my reviewers, you were all inspiring with your encouragement!

I've got a couple of new ideas floating around in my head for the boys…so maybe you'll see me back here in the not too distant future!

Until then, give me one last review to make me happy!


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